


The Guardian Lion: A Game of Thrones Tale

by LibraryAuthor166



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 23:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11023815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibraryAuthor166/pseuds/LibraryAuthor166
Summary: Elynor lived a life of simplicity with her father, Tyrion Lannister, much to the annoyance of her Aunt Cersei, Queen of Westeros. Her world is shattered when her barbaric and puerile cousin, Joffrey Baratheon, is crowned King of Westeros. Now fear and war bind the Seven Kingdoms together, and no one is safe. Armed with nothing but her wit, her sword, her promise, and the love of her father, Elynor battles her designated fate in an attempt to save the Seven Kingdoms.





	1. Elynor I:I

**Author's Note:**

> This a story I've posted on Tumblr as well as Quotev. So, if you see this story on either of these sites, know it's me, and not someone stealing.

My father taught me many things as he raised me, the two most significant being to have a sharp wit and sword, and to be just to all. He told me to keep his lessons in my mind and heart, no matter what challenges I would face. For a time, I thought my challenges would be mundane, as my status offered neither adventure nor mystery. Later on, I understood that life would never be as simple as I had dreamed.

The North was cold. It had always been cold and dull-looking. The terrain was bleak and gray, the rolling hills either covered with grass, rocks, or snow. The sky was similar, with a never-ending canopy of somber clouds blocking any sky or sun from the North’s inhabitants. Elynor’s companions shivered underneath their fur cloaks, looking bored with the landscape. The cold and gray didn’t bother her in the slightest; she had prepared for the weather with multiple layers of clothes and furs and could see the color behind the bleakness. What bothered her was the tension in the air surrounding the party of Lannisters and Baratheons, causing a nipping sensation on her skin.

The king, Robert Baratheon, had decided to pay a visit to his old friend, Eddard Stark, Warden of the North. Naturally, his entire family came along. The king and the other men rode their horses as the women and royal children rode in the carriage. That is, all of them except Elynor. She rode on her mare alongside her father for two reasons: the first being that she wasn’t allowed the luxury of resting in the carriage, the second was that she preferred her horse over the carriage, even if she were to be permitted inside.

“Elynor,” her father called. He asked if she was excited for our stay in Winterfell.

"I am much honored to accompany the royal family to Winterfell as it is my first time away from King’s Landing.“

He smirked at her response and looked on past the hills. He whispered that once they reached the walls of the castle, he would depart to retire in his quarters. Elynor scolded him for not coming to greet the Starks as his hosts, but he promised he would introduce himself to Lord and Lady Stark later.

Once the party had reached the top of the hill, they could see Winterfell less than a mile away. A new surge of energy seemed to have possessed everyone at the sight of the city. They pressed on and reached the walls of the city. No one but Elynor noticed Father disappear from the party and blend in with the crowd of people to make his escape. They were instead focused on Lord Stark and the King; the first of the two offering a polite and respectful bow to his king, the second giving a bear-hug to his old friend. There was warm laughter from House Stark and Baratheon alike in response to the informal greeting of the king. He examined Lord Stark’s children and had quick words with each of them.

There was Robb Stark, the eldest. He would become Lord of Winterfell when his father passed away. He was handsome, the ideal match for any young woman of Westeros. He resembled his father in strength and leadership. Sansa was the first daughter of Lord and Lady Stark. She was very pretty and wore her red hair in elegant braids. Her eyes darted at Prince Joffrey ever so often, and Elynor detected a faint blush when he absentmindedly smiled at her. Her younger sister, Arya, had a searching gaze as she looked at the strangers following the Baratheon king, whispering about “the Imp” to her sister. And there was Bran, who looked about 10. He looked curious and thoughtful, occasionally looking up to the roofs of the buildings and the walkways atop the walls. He’s going to be an adventurer. To the left of Lady Stark was the third son, Rickon. He was tiny, too young to be a warrior just yet; but, with time, he would be great.

However, who caught Elynor's attention the most was a young man who looked about her age. He was clad in all dark clothes, matching his hair and eyes. His eyes and long face resembled that of Lord Stark’s. His eyes were often downcast, rarely looking at anyone. They held sadness in them. Oh. He was Jon Snow, Lord Stark’s bastard. It was no wonder he did not stand with the other children.

Elynor must have been staring at him, because he suddenly looked up at her. She gave him a smile of good grace, doing her best to be sociable. He looked unsure at first, but smiled back benignly. She could see the boy next to him and Robb Stark chuckle at Jon Snow’s bashfulness, and Elynor gave him an apologetic wave of a hand before looking down.

The Queen, Cersei Lannister, had left her carriage with her children and handmaidens, approaching the Starks with an air of poise and assertiveness. She went through the same routine of greeting as her husband before the King proposed visiting the crypt. The queen opposed because of the party’s fatigue, but all both knew why he insisted on going. He wished to pay respects to Lord Stark’s late sister, Lyanna, the King’s first betrothed. The two men went off, leaving everyone else in an uncomfortable silence.  
The silence was cut short when Arya asked “Where’s the imp?” a little bit louder than she meant to. Cersei’s polite smile turned into a scowl as she realized that Tyrion was missing. She turned to her brother, Jaime, asking where their brother was. She then looked straight at Elynor, telling her to look for her father immediately. Elynor nodded and went to leave.

“Now, Cersei,” Uncle Jaime protested, “It’s no trouble to me to find our brother. Let the girl rest.”

Cersei shook her head. “Searching for our brother will give her a tour of Winterfell, which will be beneficial to her later.” She glared at Elynor once more, sending her off to fetch Lord Tyrion.

Elynor had left the forum when a hand was gently placed on her shoulder. Uncle Jaime approached her and told her to go to her room and rest. She shook her head, telling him that the queen would be displeased if she disobeyed her. Jaime insisted that he and Tyrion would be displeased if she found him. She knew why Jaime didn’t want her looking for Father; he was at the brothel. Neither her uncle nor her father wanted her to see that. She understood but knew the queen would be angry nonetheless. Seeing that she was still unsure, he promised that Cersei would not know. “Thank you,” she whispered, walking past him.

When Elynor returned to the less-crowded forum, she searched for the cart carrying luggage. A kind laborer informed where it was. Her bags were the only ones left, which didn’t surprise her. It was good to learn to take care of oneself, so she didn’t completely mind. She nearly stumbled back when she saw a young girl just inches in front of her as she turned my back on the cart. It was Arya Stark, staring at Elynor for a good long while, eyebrows furrowed, examining her like she was some sort of animal from beyond the wall. Elynor stared back, waiting for her to speak. When Arya did speak, Elynor starting laughing, though she didn’t know why.

“Have you seen the Imp? Where is he?”

Arya seemed muddled by the giggles. She asked what was going on, getting annoyed.

“I’m sorry. You just surprised me. Yes, I’ve seen him. My father is asleep in his room right now. We’d best not disturb him.” She smiled at her, hoping she would believe her lie.

The girl's eyes were wide with shock. “You’re the Imp’s daughter? When did he have a daughter?”

“About fifteen years ago,” she answered. “I’m Elynor. It is an honor to meet you, Lady Arya Stark.” She gave the girl a respectful bow and rose to see her displeased face. She apparently didn’t like her title; so, Elynor offered her hand instead, and she shook it, grinning.

Arya led Elynor to her chamber where they left her belongings. Arya then led her around Winterfell, pointing out her favorites places to be and the people she interacted with on a daily basis. Elynor learned that she preferred learning how to fight than how to sew, which mortified her sister and septa but excited her brothers. Elynor told her that both would become useful, whether she became a lady or a warrior. She looked confused but nodded. Arya spoke of how her father had found a litter of direwolf pups near their deceased mother. He had planned to kill them until Jon Snow had suggested that the Stark children raise them. Elynor's remark that they both seemed to be good men made her beam.  
Arya seemed to be interested in a life at King’s Landing as Tyrion’s daughter, which was appropriate as no one had ever heard of Tyrion having a daughter, which itself was surprising. “My father raised me on his own,” Elynor told her. “He taught me almost everything I know. He gave me an education in everything I am allowed to know, including how to outwit anyone who will do me harm. He hired a Braavosian swordsman to teach me how to handle a blade and a bow and arrow. I am one of the few women living in King’s Landing who can fight with a sword.” She leaned in to whisper into the girl’s ear, grinning. “Don’t tell anyone, but I brought my rapier with me. Would you like to see it later?” The girl nodded happily before a septa called her away. “Tomorrow.” Elynor whispered as she ran off.

“She seems to have taken a liking for you.” a voice behind Elynor commented.

Lord Stark and King Robert were standing right behind where Elynor was sitting. She sprang up and lowered her head in respect. “My King. Lord Stark.” she addressed. “Forgive me, I didn’t see you.”

“It is alright.” Lord Stark replied. “Robert, who is this girl? Whose daughter is she?”

“She’s Elynor, Tyrion Lannister’s daughter.” He gave such an informal introduction. Why?

Lord Stark examined the younger Lannister's face as if searching for any trace of her father. Elynor looked almost nothing like a Lannister, let alone her father. Her brown curls were not his blonde locks, nor was her straight nose his. Her lips did not match his mouth, and her gentle jaw was soft and curved, unlike his strong and square one. However, despite what others would insist, she had his eyes. She had inherited his green eyes, the only physical attribute that proved that she had Lannister blood flowing through her, and she thought they were wonderful simply because they were his.

“Are you taken care of?”

“Of course.” That wasn’t entirely true, but that’s what he most likely wanted to hear.

He sighed and welcomed her to Winterfell, and she thanked him as he and the king left.

That night, the Starks held a feast for the King and his company. From her chamber, Elynor could see the lights from the Great Hall. She could hear the band playing a lively tune for dancers but had decided not to go, as parties were overcrowded and Cersei had “advised” her to not to attend, using her “fatigue after our month-long ride” as an excuse. Well, Joffrey would be there, so why bother going?

Elynor sighed, fiddling with the golden chain around my neck. She had no memory of her mother but a warm laugh a golden pendant with a pearl in the center that she had left. Father said that when her mother died, Elynor was given to him with the golden chain around the neck. The pearl, he told, has important to her family. The only clue: she was highborn. Around the pearl were pictures of mermaids, each trying to hold the pearl up and support it. Elynor had always kept it hidden from Cersei and Joffrey, for fear they might snatch it away. Thank the gods, neither of them had seen it for the 16 years that she had had it. 

Elynor soon became bored of reading in her room and resorted to gazing out her window. The night was calm and quiet in Winterfell. Everyone was at the feast, either eating and drinking or serving food and drink. Only the occasional animal or servant roamed the streets. It was so peaceful outside, so pleasantly quiet. She knew if she left her room, Cersei would be infuriated by her doing so. She had said that Elynor couldn’t go to the feast; but, she had said nothing about going anywhere else. Elynor scooped up her cloak and draped it over her shoulders. When a hand was on the door, she saw her rapier, lying next to the bed. She wouldn’t need it, so why was she contemplating carrying it with her nevertheless? A nurse’s words were heard clear in her mind: A lady has no need for a sword at her waist. She hesitated but chose to hide the rapier underneath the cloak.

The torches that burned brightly inside the Hall cast a warm glow on the courtyard outside, the sounds of laughter, drunkenness, and music erupting from the doors and windows. A few servants went in and out of allies on the side of the hall, some busy at work, some drunk from ale and wine. A few insects chirped along with the music playing inside, the wind forcing trees to dance along. Elynor did not wish to be a part of it. Outside the main hall was a small training arena. Training dummies stood guard over an assemblage of weapons: a plethora of swords, maces, the occasional axe, spears, bows and arrows, and, the most disturbing, a lone scythe. How fitting. A row of targets for shooting was positioned against a wall, awaiting the sensation of being pierced by a quick and distant blade. As she approached, she could see someone. He was impassionately mauling a dummy with his sword. His movements were agile and strong. His sword cut deep into the dummy, causing stuffing to poke out of the fresh openings. If the dummy were made of flesh, the swordsman’s powerful mobility would kill him quickly and, hopefully, painlessly.

“Would you teach me that?”

The swordsman stopped his attack to look at Elynor. Jon Snow’s eyes held confusion, embarrassment, and disbelief. He clutched his sword firmly, letting it hang as an extension of his arm. His staggered breathing revealed the effort he had taken to maul the dummy behind him. “What?”

“Would you please teach me how to do what you just did?” He stilled looked at her as if she were crazy. “I do know how to use a sword.”

He hesitated but motioned for her to approach the dummy. “It’s not exactly easy. So, don’t be upset if you can’t get it right away.”

Elynor unfastened her cloak and hung it on the fence. “Don’t worry,” she assured, unsheathing her rapier, “I’m a fast learner.”

Jon Snow pointed to each place where to strike the dummy: the ribs, the neck, a jab to the heart, and, “if she could”, a deep slice down to the stomach. He demonstrated the combination, showing off his strength and control. After he was finished, he stepped back for her to mimic what he had just done. The thing about Elynor's sword skill was that she was fast. Jon Snow was stronger, no doubt; however, she was agiler. She approached the dummy slowly, analyzing her objective. She struck a blow to the dummy’s ribs, whirled her sword up to its neck, and then stabbed the chest, driving the sword down to its stomach.

Jon Snow looked purely stunned as the dummy’s head slid off of its neck. He was so perplexed, he dropped his sword. “How… How did you do that?”

Elynor shrugged, telling him that she had simply done what he had done. He frowned in disbelief, asking her to do it again. She did. Another innocent training dummy was decapitated and lacerated. Then, Jon Snow told her to fight him. She told him no.

“Elynor, I hope you’re going easy on that bag of stuffing.”

Father was standing underneath an archway, watching the scene in front of him with a silent merriment. In his hand was a tall glass bottle, from which he drank every few seconds. No doubt, it was filled with some rich ale from the kitchens.

“I assure you, Father, I am giving it nothing more than it can handle.” Elynor laughed as she put my rapier away. “What are you doing back there? You haven’t introduced yourself to the Starks.”

“I’m preparing for a night with his family.” He pointed to Jon Snow behind me as he took another swig of ale. Father’s footsteps led his to the training arena to lean against the fence. It was then that he moved his conversation to Jon Snow. “Your uncle’s in the Night’s Watch. I’ve always wanted to see The Wall.”

Realization struck Jon Snow. “You’re Tyrion Lannister. The Queen’s brother.” Father nodded. Jon Snow looked at me. “He’s your father?” Elynor nodded.

“My two greatest accomplishments.” My father forced the words out, then gave Elynor a smirk. “And you…” He looked at her momentarily, and she nodded to his unspoken question. “You’re Ned Stark’s bastard, aren’t you?”

Elynor held back a groan at his bluntness. Jon Snow turned to leave, obviously offended. You would think that HE of all people would be delicate with that…  
“Did I offend you?” Father followed him, unshaken. “Sorry. You are the bastard, though.”

Jon Snow gave Elynor a suspicious look as if to say Is he serious? She nodded. She’d seen Father do this many times, doing similar things with her.  
“Lord Eddard Stark is my father.” Jon Snow defended himself.

“And Lady Stark is not your mother,” Father finished. “Making you the bastard.” He looked to his daughter. “What’s the advice I always give outcasts, Elynor?”

“Never forget what you are.” Elynor recited to Jon Snow. “The rest of the world will not.”

“Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you.” Father and daughter said together. They had lived by these words for all their lives.

Father bowed to the young lord and lady before going into the Main Hall, drinking from his bottle of ale on the way. However, Jon Snow was not finished.

“What do you know about being a bastard?”

Father pursed his lips as he turned to give his answers. “All dwarves are bastards in their father’s eyes.” Taking another swig, he left and went inside the Hall.

Bastard. The cursed word of Westeros. It didn’t matter who you were or where you came from; if you were a bastard, the world would be cruel to you until you die. You were a disgrace to your house, a scandal. You could never inherit a portion of your family’s wealth, nor earn a title to represent your house. A man’s only chance to have or be something in the world would be to join the Night’s Watch and pray to the gods for a high rank. A woman had no such opportunity; marriage was the only solution, be it an uncertain one. Either way, you were left to feel worthless and discreditable.

Jon Snow certainly understood that more than anybody. He may have been allowed to live in his father’s home; but his own family had shunned him from the feast, probably from other important events, as well. He knew his only chance for respect was to go to the Wall and join the Night’s Watch. According to Arya, he was going to do it. One could only imagine how difficult life was for him. 

Jon Snow threw all of his anger and frustration at the dummy. Elynor told him of how sorry she was for him and that he shouldn’t be mistreated because of his birth, that she understood what it is like to be segregated from society for who you are. “What do you know about being a bastard?”

His words were sharp and cold, cutting deep within like a dangerously sharp sliver of ice. Elynor morosely smiled at him, revealing all the empathy she had for him before grabbing her cloak and leaving for her room. As she turned away, she bade him goodnight and left him with brief, yet important words.

“I’m Elynor Waters, Tyrion Lannister’s bastard.”


	2. Elynor I:II

Elynor woke up covered in sheets and furs, burrowing herself deeper and deeper to obtain ultimate warmth. Lying on her side, she saw a small blue flower and a piece of parchment folded on her windowsill. She gave up the comfort of her bed to retrieve the flower and paper. Wrapped in a robe, she slipped out of bed and unfolded the paper. She chuckled at the note inside. It was brief and concise, similar to the author’s speech.

Don’t forget.  
-Arya

There was a knock on the door, and a voice asked Elynor if she was decent. The note and flower were speedily stuffed into a pocket inside her robes as she responded that she was. A handmaid opened the door and hauled a heavy bucket of water into the room, too big for her to carry. Elynor grabbed one of the handles on the tub and helped the poor girl set the tub against the wall. She carried in other things, such as a soap and a slice of bread.

“Lady Stark sent me, Milady.”

“Thank you.“

“Were you warm enough last night?”

Elynor nodded curtly as she unbraided her hair and washed it in the tub. The water was surprisingly warm, and she could feel the tension in her shoulders fade as tiny beads of warmth fell onto her neck. Her hair was then dried, combed, and braided around her head. The little girl tried to stop her from doing her own hair, but Elynor insisted that she do it herself.

“It’s no bother to me, milady. I’ve been told I do well with hair.”

“I’m sure you are. You do know who I am, right?”

“No, milady.”

Elynor chuckled at her timidity through a friendly smile. “If you did, I doubt you’d be offering to do my hair. I’m the Imp’s bastard.”

She said nothing. Elynor thought she was about to walk away; but, instead, she picked up the comb and pried her hair from her hand.

“You’re a Lannister. The Lannisters are the Stark’s guests. Therefore, I’m your servant until you leave.”

Elynor pursed her lips and sighed. “Do you know how to comb curls, Miss…?”

“Lehna, Lady Waters. And you comb from the tips, don’t you?”

Elynor liked Lehna. She told the young handmaid that she didn’t have someone to dress her or do her hair in King’s Landing and that she had learned how to take care of herself over the years. She seemed surprised but nodded. Elynor abruptly asked what her life was like, rather than making a sob story about herself. There was no point in that. Lehna told her about her father, who fought for Lord Stark in his army. She had a little brother, Erac, who was 9 years old. She often served Ladies Sansa and Arya when their handmaidens were unable to work. Her life was simple and safe, and she enjoyed it. Her father was encouraging her to find a husband, but she didn’t expect to marry soon. Elynor told her that she’d probably find a good husband soon with her good looks and her good nature. She blushed as she braided the hair into its usual halo. Changing into a pink dress, Elynor thanked her as she carried the bucket and soap away.

Her bread was finished before she left the room, with her sword hidden inside a special pocket sewn into the dress. It was early, and few in Winterfell were likely awake. The hall was quiet, with only a few servants and guards occupying the stone halls. It was only because of the tugging at the hem of her skirt that Elynor noticed Jon Snow and white direwolf sitting right beside the door.

When Elynor wished him a good morning, he just stared her for a moment before speaking: “Arya sent me to ask if you got her note.”

“She’s really eager, isn’t she?” Elynor chuckled. Jon Snow just looked at as if she were speaking to him in some foreign tongue. “You know, it’s ok to laugh sometimes, Jon Snow.” Still nothing. “I’m sorry if I insulted you last night. It wasn’t my intent.”

The direwolf attentively bunted his wet black nose into the palm of Elynor's hand, compelling her to kneel and pet him. She stayed her hand, and the wolf inspected it curiously before pushing his muzzle into her hand again. He sat, allowing her to pet him behind his ears and down his back as he flashed a toothy grin only a direwolf could possibly show off. His fierce red eyes held such loyalty and mischief and bravery. Elynor unabashedly giggled like a child at the wolf. “You have a handsome direwolf.”

“He’s called Ghost.” Jon Snow looked on at them, most likely surprised by Ghost’s openness. “He doesn’t often allow strangers to pet him.” Elynor suggested that she might be special to Ghost, as they began to walk down the hall and to the training grounds to meet Arya. “I’m sorry that I was unmannerly yesterday.” He apologized quietly. “I didn’t know you were a bastard, too. Will you forgive me?”

She shrugged, telling him that there was no way he could have known, and that, therefore, there was nothing to forgive. “We’re both bastards. We must look out for our own.”  
This made him smile, which satisfied her. She thought about asking if he knew his mother, but fought the idea. Instead, she challenged him to a practice duel in the training grounds, “to show off our abilities to each other and amaze Arya”. He refused at first, saying that it wouldn’t be right for him to fight a woman. She smirked and accused him of being a craven. If he was going to join the Black, he was going to need all the practice he could. This interested him, and he accepted.

“Shall we use wooden swords or our own blades, Jon Snow?”

“Wooden. And I would rather you call me Jon.”

Arya and her direwolf were there, waiting with Robb Stark and Lord Stark’s ward, Theon Greyjoy. Jon whispered to Elynor that they had a crowd, causing her to laugh. “It’s the battle of the bastards.” she teasingly retorted.

“Would you look at that?” Greyjoy commented to Robb Stark. “Jon Snow made a girl laugh.”

“A pretty one, too.” Robb Stark sniggered. “Lady, has he forsworn his betrothal to the Night’s Watch for a softer bed?”

“You flatter me, Ser.” Elynor said with a courteous bow to him and Greyjoy. “But I’m afraid his bond is one not so easily broken by a woman.”

Robb Stark and Greyjoy chuckled as the two bastards drew wooden swords. They crossed swords and paced ten steps before Jon lunged forward. Elynor dodged his attacks every time before pushing him back with my own. He paused, breathing heavily. She smiled innocently and let him pause. He was obviously going easy on her, but she wouldn’t let him. She refused to be treated thus.

One look from him, and she knew he immediately saw her as competition. He lifted his sword and there was a deafening silence.

They ran at each other, swords clashing. He pushed her back; she ran and attacked him. He parried. She pushed him back. He shoved her sword back with his gloved hands. It went on, the fight of strength versus speed becoming more and more intense. They were neck to neck, the wooden swords pushing against each other. And then he punched her. He punched her in the stomach, knocking her back. He brought his sword back, preparing for the heavy blow he would give. He extended his arm, aiming the sword for her chest, only to watch her knock it away and strike his arm and chest. Now she was angry. He stopped himself from falling back, and they lunged at each other. She could see the determination in his eyes as he turned his wrist and pushed her back with the pommel of the hilt. But she wouldn’t lose. He knew it too, his determined eyes now betraying his dread. She drew an “X” onto his chest and shoved him flat on his back. He tried to get up until he saw her freshly drawn rapier pointed at his stomach. And then there was silence once again.

The three onlookers applauded, Greyjoy howling with laughter. Elynor slid her rapier back into its hiding place before offering Jon her hand. He looked at her with bewilderment before taking it. “Let me offer you some free advice, Jon Snow. Know mercy well, but never go easy on an opponent because they look weaker or inferior. You might end up dead.” He nodded, and she knew he understood completely. That’s when she felt something push as her ankles and a hard surface against her back.   
She on the ground looking up at Jon Snow standing above her. She heard Robb and Theon scold Jon for knocking her over and taking her sword. Jon shrugged. "And may I offer you some advice, Elynor Waters. Don’t fight in a dress. I would guess that it’s hard to fight in. An opponent will take advantage of the fact you’re a woman. Oh, and a duel isn’t over until someone yields. I said ‘I yield’.”

Elynor had probably never laughed so hard in her life. Jon looked confused before laughing, with Robb and Theon following. “That was a fight well fought, Jon.” He laughed awkwardly as he agreed, pulling her up and shaking her hand.

“Addressing each other so informally, are you Jon?” Greyjoy teased, mocking Elynor's voice, getting a laugh from his friend. “Shall there be a wedding within the month?”

“Shut up!” Jon Snow called with a huff. Elynor couldn’t stop her blush. Why was she blushing?

“Yeah, Theon. Shut up.” Arya defended her half-brother. “Elynor said she’d show me her sword.” She ran to the swordswoman, asking her to pull out the sword again. Elynor nodded, drawing the blade out.

“It was a gift from my father for my eighth nameday,” Elynor told her, “when I was old enough to need it”. She told Arya to hold out her hands and gently placed the sword in the girl's hands. It was extremely light, even for a rapier. Arya gently grabbed the hilt and swung it around, grinning at the swishing sound of the blade. Elynor told her the name of the rapier: Lambent Justice. When Jon asked why there were no chips scratches on the steel, she told him that she hadn’t need to use it often. This was half true; the other half was that Lambent Justice was made of Valyrian Steel. Father and Elynor had agreed never to tell anyone that she had a sword of such rare material. Jon and Robb exchange a look; they certainly didn’t believe her, but what could they do?

A month passed during the King’s stay in Winterfell. Elynor was honored to befriend the Starks. They were what she believed an ideal family should be: bound together by love and a deep friendship. Arya and Bran had begged her to instruct them in sword skills, to which she obliged. Little Rickon would watch, mimicking their movements from a bench. Theon and Elynor would often duel, and he sometimes was able to twist her sword out of her hand. Sometimes. Once, Robb challenged her, but she refused; it would be disgraceful for her to appear superior to a highborn. But, he persisted and persisted, until she hesitantly agreed. To this day, he is the only opponent who defeated her on the first try, except for Jon. Only Lady Sansa seemed to dislike her, but she was not to blame. She was infatuated by Joffrey, the crowned prince, who despised his cousin. It was only natural that she would blindly follow his actions. Poor girl.

It was Jon who became Elynor's closest friend and confidant during her time in Winterfell. They were two lone bastards living with their highborn families. He would wait for her outside every morning, which she at first told him was unnecessary, but she grew to excitedly expect him there. They would walk about Winterfell with Ghost following close behind, talking about anything and nothing. They began to confide in one another, of dreams of making names for themselves and protecting those in need. He empathized with her loneliness and how much she wished for a motherly figure. It had been so refreshing to have a friend that she could tell anything to and who trusted her in return. Other than her father, she had never met anyone who had fully understood that bastards were more than what society said they had to be. She never wanted to leave the North. However, she couldn’t change fate; they would have to leave soon.

“Ser Robb!” a servant shouted as he ran to the arena one day. He stopped at the gate, panting. “Your mother wants you. It’s your brother, Brandon. He’s fallen.”  
The color drained from Robb’s face. He ran, the rest of the group in hot pursuit. Robb and Arya went into their brother’s room, where little Bran lay still. From outside the room, she could see Lady Stark sitting by her son’s side, weeping and wailing profusely. Lord Stark and a maester stood behind her, doing their best to reassure her that Bran would live and eventually come to. The Stark children just stood at the foot of the bed, unsure what to make of their brother’s injury. He had fallen from a tower; he was a cripple for life. Even Bran’s direwolf, Summer, looked morose, lying on the bed with his head drooped. It so horrible.

“I should go.” Elynor whispered to Jon. “I’ll pray to the gods for his full and quick recovery, Lord and Lady Stark.” she called before leaving the Starks to their privacy.

Soon the month was over, and the Royal Family was to leave the North. Bran had not woken from his coma, but it was said that he would wake soon, which gave much relief to his anxious family. Everyone had given their sympathies to Lord and Lady Stark, all except Prince Joffrey. Elynor knew he wouldn’t listen if she told him to offer his sympathies, but that did not quench her temptation to slap him when he gave his pathetic reason not to. She had suggested that Arya and she offer their services to her mother and Maester Luwin, who were steadfastly staying by Bran’s side as he recovered. Arya would go into the room, but Elynor would stay outside, not to offend Lady Stark.

On her last day in Winterfell, Elynor was met outside by her father, who looked like he had just slept in the stables. He asked if she had eaten, to which she said she hadn’t; and, he told her to eat with him and the others. “Shouldn’t the queen be offended by my presence at the breakfast table?”

“Tsk tsk,” Father shook his head. “Elynor, you are my precious daughter. Where I go, you shall follow.” He offered his arm, and she took it.

They entered the guest house, where only the queen and her brother and children sat to eat. Tyrion sent a servant to fetch fish, ale and water, and crisp bacon and bread. Elynor sat in-between Father and her Uncle Jaime, well aware that they were the ones who would allow me to sit near them. She remained silent throughout the entire meal, listening to Father inform Uncle Jaime and the queen that Bran will likely survive his fall, observing the reaction of the Uncle Jaime and the queen. They both seemed shocked that Father was going to the Wall, “to look over and piss over the edge.”

“And where will you be, Elynor?” The queen asked suddenly, tearing a piece of bread with her slender fingers.

“As it pleases you, my queen, and as it pleases my father,” Elynor answered. Cersei only stared coldly as Father nodded. “I will stay in Winterfell until he returns from the Wall. Castle Black is no place for a lady.”

The queen nodded in approval before taking Myrcella and young Tommen away with her. Elynor would have returned Tommen’s cheerful wave as they left were it not for Cersei' sharp glare. Know your place, bastard.

Elynor later saw Uncle Jaime talking with Jon Snow. The upset look on Jon’s face compelled her to eavesdrop. True, doing so was rude and she wouldn’t recommend it; unless in dire situations or war.

“…sacks of meat, blood, and some bones to keep it all standing.” He sighed. “Let me thank you ahead of time for guarding us all from the perils beyond the Wall - Wildlings and White Walkers and whatnot.” He then pulled Jon closer in a handshake to whisper something before walking away. Elynor knew he didn’t believe in the need for the Night’s Watch, but must he mock Jon? Spite bloomed in Elynor as she strained to listen.

“We’ve guarded the Kingdoms for 8,000 years.” Jon defend.

“Is it ‘we’ already?” Uncle Jaime sniffed. “Have you taken your vows?” Jon answered. “Give my regards to the Night’s Watch. I’m sure it will be thrilling to serve in such an elite force. And if not… it’s only for life.”

The spite within Elynor had grown to a flame at this point. What right did Uncle Jaime have to ridicule Jon’s choice to join the Night’s Watch, when he himself is a member of the Kingsguard? As he walked past, she stepped out of the shadows to give angered a warning look. You shame yourself. She gave an apologetic look to Jon before going to her chamber. She had finished packing for her journey to the Wall yesterday, but wasn’t just ready to go, yet. Hidden underneath the bed were a wig and warm clothes. She quickly fastened her dress and slid into breeches and a doublet. The doublet didn’t fit. She sighed, looking down. She had to do it. She took off her doublet and chemise, grabbing a long cloth. She took a relaxing, motivational breath before tightly wrapping the cloth around her breasts; seven hells, it hurt to do this. But it was worth if it meant seeing the Wall. She put the chemise and doublet back on, then adjusted the wig Father had given her. She looked just like a boy; enough to convince everyone else that she was one.

Arya! Elynor had promised Arya that she would say goodbye before she left. She rushed out of the room and went down the hall to Arya’s. She knocked on the door and waited. There was whispering before the door cautiously opened, with a young eye peeking through the slivered opening. The eye widened before the door opened enough for Elynor to pass through. Jon and Nymeria stood off to the side, watching curiously.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Arya asked inquisitively.

Elynor looked from Arya to Jon before closing the door and whispering to them that she was going to visit the Wall. As she had told Cersei, the wall is no place for a woman; however, nobody would forbid her from going if they thought she was a man. While Jon looked amused, Arya was visibly upset. In an attempt to restore her mood, Elynor promised that she would send her a raven every day. When the girl told her that every day was too much, they agreed on every other day. By this time, Jon had left to find Robb, leaving the girls alone to finish the packing. Septa Mordane had made her redo her packing, saying that it was too messy and disorderly. Elynor suggested that the septa only meant to teach her to rely on good habits. She packed a dress into her bag and unearthed a sword. She asked if Mordane had given her this “needle”; Arya told her that it was Jon who had had it made for her. She marveled at the thin sword before putting it back in hiding, packing it carefully. They finished and Elynor gave Arya one more quick hug goodbye before leaving.

They left the castle and everyone went their separate ways. We went even farther North while the king and his hand went South to King’s Landing. After a day of riding, the party going to the Wall sent up camp in the woods. Elynor took a book from a pocket in her cloak and read by the fire, Father doing the same. Jon Snow sat next to her, silently watching his surroundings: Ghost lying just outside the camp, the winding tree on the edge of the creek, and Ser Benjen bringing two men to the fire and promising them food and rest.  
Father explained to Jon that they were rapists, given the choice between castration or the Wall; it wasn’t uncommon for most to choose the knife over the Wall. These new knights certainly didn’t look the part of the valiant and noble image that most expect the Knight’s Watch to be. In truth, Castle Black had become more of a dumping ground for criminals and bastards than a lionhearted brotherhood. It was evident on everyone’s faces, though no one would acknowledge it aloud.

“Why do you two read so much?” Jon questioned in an attempt to change the subject, forcing Elynor to grin.

“Look at me and tell me what you see.” Father instructed. “What you see is a dwarf. If I had been born a peasant, they might have left me out in the woods to die; alas, I was born a Lannister of Casterly Rock. Things are expected of me. My father was the hand of the king for twenty years-”

“Until your brother killed that king.”

Elynor looked over at Jon warningly, Tyrion sighing in agreement. “Yes. Until my brother killed him. Life is full of these little ironies. My sister married the new king and my repulsive nephew will be king after him. I must do my part for the honor of our house, wouldn’t you agree? But how? Well, my brother has his sword and I have my mind, and a mind needs books like a sword needs a whetstone. That’s why I read so much, Jon Snow.”

Jon watched as Elynor turned back to my book, satisfied with the returning silence. “And what about you? You haven’t told me why you read so much.”

“You’re smart. You know why.” she reminded him. “And you? Tell us your story.”

“Ask me nicely and maybe I’ll tell you.”

The three of them laughed before Tyrion made his guess: “A bastard boy with nothing to inherit, off to join the ancient order of the Night’s Watch along with his valiant brothers-in-arms.”

“The Night’s Watch protects the realm from-”

“Ah yes! Yes, from grumpkins and snarks and all the other monsters your wet nurse warned you about.” Tyrion chided. “You’re a smart boy. You don’t believe that nonsense.”

Elynor sat closer to Jon as Father tossed them a flask of wine. “The monsters we learned about may not be real,” she told them, leaning closer to the fire, “but, something inspired those legends. Every lie is based on a bit of truth.”

Jon handed Elynor the flask and she handed him her book, and the read and told stories until it was too dark to read.


End file.
